telling eyes
by Katseester
Summary: Ryoji Mochizuki walks into your life one day, and it's all downhill from there.


Ryoji Mochizuki walks into your life one day, and it's all downhill from there.

There's something about him that's familiar; something about the way he holds himself, the way he speaks, the way he _looks_ at you, with bright, confused eyes that search your face and darken in frustration when they don't find what they're looking for. There's something about him that you can't place a finger on, but it's on the tip of your tongue and you know you could spit it out if you could just figure out what exactly it is.

He's a strange guy, and when he offers you his hand to shake you're hesitant at first, but his grasp is strong and firm, not at all like you expected, and the way he smiles at you prickles away at your skin, and you _want_ to remember but you _can't _because there's nothing _to_ remember.

You've never met him before this day.

And yet you feel as though if you asked, asked him anything, anything at all, he would gladly comply. He would clap you on the shoulder like an old friend, he would smile, and he would do it. He would do anything for you.

You shake your head of these thoughts and try to ignore the way his eyes follow you as you leave the classroom.

That night you dream of boys in striped pajamas and doom.

* * *

It doesn't come as much of a surprise when, the following day, Ryoji asks you to hang out with him for a bit.

"I feel as though we've met before, though I can't fathom why," he laughs, tilting his head in a carefree manner that makes you frown.

"I feel the same," you say slowly, and in your mind you're slowly piecing together a puzzle that doesn't quite make sense, and most of the pieces are blank.

You spend the afternoon with him, and you admit to yourself that it's fun. There's something about Ryoji that you like, something that pulls you closer to him than you necessarily should be, something that makes you smile even though there's nothing remotely funny about anything.

When you return to the dorm in the evening he says he would like to see you again, and you return the sentiment.

Aigis is staring at you, slow and intense from across the room, like she's not sure if she should approach or attack.

"Please stay away from him," she says, giving you pause at the foot of the stairs. "He is dangerous. I do not want you to get hurt."

Her eyes remain on you until you are out of sight.

* * *

Ryoji is far too charming for his own good. By the end of his first week at school, he has half of the female population swooning at his feet. He has several girls on each arm at the end of every day, and still more trailing behind him, sighing and giggling and shooting him flirty glances when they think no one is looking.

It makes you feel sick, the way he allows them to hang off him in such a manner. Yet you can't look away, eyes locked on point until you can no longer see him. You catch a glance thrown over his shoulder, eyes momentarily clouding over and brow furrowing in perplexion, and you meet his gaze with steady disapproval that makes him frown deeper, but the moment is quickly gone and the classroom is suddenly empty without the inane chattering of the girls.

"What's wrong?" Yukari asks, meandering to your desk and shooting a dirty look at the classroom door before focusing her full attentions on you.

You shake your head minutely; even you don't understand the twisting feeling coiling in your gut.

* * *

The day you allow Ryoji to enter your room is the day things get weird.

He stands in the doorway, taking it in, a slight smile adorning his face behind the soft wool of his scarf. "It's very you," he says after a time, nodding at the blue theme. "I like it. It feels like home." The sparse furnishings would indicate otherwise, but you keep your mouth shut.

He sits at the foot of your bed, gingerly, as though afraid he is overstepping his boundaries. His eyes lower to his clasped hands in his lap, and he moves them to rest on either side of him, as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

You can almost imagine him kicking his feet back and forth.

"I don't know why," he says, and then abruptly stops, a guilty look passing over his face.

"What is it?" You ask, taking a seat beside him.

"I noticed that you don't exactly approve of...of the amount of girls," he says after a pensive silence, but doesn't elaborate.

You don't need to ask for more. The swooning, sighing girls, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed, fingers digging into his arm so hard you're sure they'll draw blood.

"It doesn't matter," you say, trying not to appear too concerned. "It's none of my business."

"But I don't like any them!" Ryoji exclaims, panic creeping into his voice. "No, no, that's not right," he amends, finding it difficult to focus his eyes on any particular area. He takes a deep breath. "That was unkind to them. I apologize. What I meant was that I do enjoy their presence, and I'm sure they're all very lovely girls, but I don't feel an emotional attachment to any of them." He shifts his gaze to the side and his face turns pensive again.

_Not like with you,_ remains unsaid, but you can feel it and he can feel it and no words are needed.

"It's strange," he says, "I feel at ease when I'm with you. It's as though I've known you my whole life, but that's absurd!" He runs a shaking hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, I don't know what it is that's bothering me so."

"It's fine," you say, allowing a bit of your own nervousness to show through. You don't mention that he evokes the same sensation in you, the impression of familiarity that has haunted you since you first shook his hand.

"I was afraid of being alone," he tells you later in almost a whisper, when you're both sprawled out length-wise along the bed and facing each other. The intimacy of the position does not elude you, but it does not bother you either. It feels almost natural, and the way Ryoji's hand is resting in the no-man's land between the two of you, fingers curled and relaxed, denotes his agreeance. "I guess that's why I tried to surround myself with so many people. But it didn't help; I still felt terribly lonely."

You reach across into the bare space and rest your hand atop his. His eyebrows furrow at this and you're afraid you've made the wrong choice, afraid that this isn't what he wanted after all, but then he grasps your hand in such a fierce grip that you don't think he'll ever let go.

"I was blind," he laughs, a little self-deprecatingly, and loosens his grasp on your hand enough for you to return the gesture. "I didn't need all those people."

He uses his free hand to unwind his scarf from his neck, and tosses it over you onto the floor.

You're not sure what it is you're sharing with him at this moment, but it leaves you feeling warm.

* * *

You don't know what it is you have with Ryoji. It's something you've never experienced before; a closeness that transcends friendship but dances evasively around the fine line between platonic and romantic.

There are no questions immediately asked when you both stumble out of the same room the next morning, clothes rumpled and hair sleep-tousled but otherwise well-rested.

Junpei at least has the decency to wait until Ryoji excuses himself to take a shower. "So, you and him, eh?" he asks, sidling up to you and shooting you a lecherous wink. You can feel Aigis' steady gaze upon your back, and you catch Yukari pretending not to care with her nose buried in a magazine of some sort, but casting you quick, suspicious glances over the pages.

Junpei catches your hesitant expression and nudges your shoulder roughly. "Hey, if you don't want to fill me in on the nitty-gritty that's fine with me; I'd rather not know. _But_," and here he lowers his voice dramatically, pulling in close and throwing an arm over your shoulder, only serving to draw more attention to himself, "between you and me, Ryoji better start watching his back, huh? Yuka-tan isn't exactly the forgiving type, if you know what I mean." He jerks his chin pointedly in Yukari's general direction and draws a finger across his throat, making a choking sound.

"I can hear you, you know," Yukari remarks, snapping her magazine closed. She sighs, a decidedly morose-sounding exhalation of air, and heads for the stairs. "I'm going out."

Junpei looks a little sorry, but not too much.

* * *

November draws to a close, sharp and crisp and smelling of the decaying leaves scattered about on the ground. You're aware of the ever-present niggling whispers in the back of your mind, screaming at you that Ryoji is not what he seems, but what he truly is remains a mystery. You know, and he knows, but what he is is so complicated that it cannot be properly expressed with words, and you don't understand it enough to even begin an attempt at such, anyways.

Not until the second of December.

You find him perhaps a week later on a blustery afternoon atop the roof of the school, leaning into the fence surrounding the perimeter, fingers curled loosely around the frigid metal. He doesn't acknowledge your presence until you are stationed beside him, and even then a slight nod of the head is the only indication that he is aware of your presence.

"I don't know what's happening to me," he says after a time, the howling wind making it difficult to discern his words. "No," he amends, shaking his head, "that is incorrect. I know what is happening, but I just don't want to believe it. I feel as though any day I might - I don't - " He grasps for the proper words to explain himself. "I'm afraid," is what he simply says, and then laughs at himself. "I'm afraid and I have no idea why."

You reach out to cover his hand overtop the metal pole, a gesture that has grown to be comforting between the two of you, but he only sighs and withdraws his hand to his side.

"I don't want to hurt you, not any more than I already have," he says, finally looking at you, and there's nothing but defeat and sorrow in his eyes. "And there's not enough words in the world to express how _sorry_ I am, but I - " he shakes his head. "I can't change who I am._ What_ I am. What I will _become_." He closes his eyes and draws a deep breath.

"I love you," he says, the wind whipping his words away, but not so fast that you can't hear them first. "I think I always have."

His words evoke a painful burning in your chest, cementing the last piece in the not-so-blank-anymore puzzle and stirring the unsettling, niggling whispers in the back of your mind, reminding you just how fucked up this whole situation is.

He kisses you then, gentle against the bitter wind, eyes closed and savoring the moment that he knows won't last.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again. "I shouldn't have done that."

"No," you agree, and you can't help the heartache that creeps into your voice, making a lump in your throat. "But it's okay," you say through that lump, even though you know everything about this situation is anything but. You want to kiss him again until he's seeing stars, until you're both breathless and lightheaded and everything really is okay again. Instead, you stroke the stray hairs from his face and once again cover his hand with your own. This time, however, he turns his palm towards yours and clutches onto it, knuckles white and fingers trembling.

Pharos. Ryoji. It doesn't matter anymore who he is, but rather _what_ he is, and what he is is Death. He is Death, and he will kill you. You both know this.

You both know this, and yet it doesn't stop him from loving you. It doesn't stop you from pulling him into an embrace that seems to last a lifetime.

It doesn't stop a single damn thing.


End file.
